enough is enough
by Constance Greene
Summary: “I’m beginning to wonder whether Santa’s a stalker pedophile or not.” — AxelZexion


D i s claimer; I don't own KH. And I love Akuzeku! –swoon.- ( What is this doing in the _disclaimer_? )

_so can't we agree  
_enough is enough ?

You can't go to Christmas Town without Axel bursting into holiday jingles every fifteen seconds.

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful . . ."

He didn't know how he endured this torture. It was worse than Vexen's constant demands for tools, being his lab partner, and being Lexaeus' watcher in weight lifting. God help him if his hands ever slipped from the bar – he'd probably let it drop because of his inexperienced build and that would be the end of his colleague.

"Honestly, it isn't that bad, Axel," He countered, though hugging his arms tighter across his chest, "and you have the element of fire to keep you warm."

"Just describing the scenery, Zexion. Trying to get in the season, y'know? The Organization isn't really big on celebrating Christmas . . ."

"Because technically we are not capable of kindness, and therefore do not undergo the symptoms of holiday cheer and gift-giving . . ."

"And are a bunch of atheist 'tards, hating God because we have a sucky afterlife, yadda yadda yadda. Look – a snowman!"

"It vaguely resembles you with that spiky holly on top."

"Naw; not red enough."

They continued walking down Candy Cane Lane, Zexion wishing he had worn something underneath his cloak like thermal underwear ( although he'd never say it ).

"Why did the Superior send just the two of us here, anyway? I don't see anything important going on but a bunch of scurrying elves that resemble midgets busy making toys for the children."

"'Cause he thought you needed a holiday, Zexion."

"It's hardly a holiday when you're here with me," He pointed out.

Axel's acid green eyes barely sidled to the left so that he could glance at his coworker. Instead they darted to a quaint, little inn situated about forty yards away from them.

"Let me treat you to some hot chocolate, Zexion."

"Are you being _nice_ to me, Axel?"

"When am I not?" He feigned innocence.

The duo walked into the bar placed at the entrance of the inn. The door, connected to a string and a bell, jingled merry Christmas tunes upon their arrival, and the toasty warmth inside greeted them with open arms. Against the back of the brick wall was a fireplace, its flames a tame height, crackling peacefully – and of course, a platter of chestnuts roasted above it. The room smelt of cinnamon, peppermint, and evergreens.

Sitting down at a small wooden table ( which was most likely hand-crafted by elves ), Axel took their orders to the waitress, pleasant and plump in a crimson dress and a white, ruffled apron. Instead of serving alcohol, the residents sold hot chocolate, hot apple cider, tea and coffee.

Zexion, who could rant on a topic almost as well as Axel and actually stick with it, continued his points. "Also, the thought of there really being a Santa Claus is childish and not believed by most adults," He concluded factually.

"No, he is real!" Axel gently planted his gloved hand on the table in declaration. "I saw him yesterday. Big, fat guy. White beard."

"You and Roxas and Demyx," The blue-haired man scoffed.

"I'd show you him tomorrow, but he doesn't like skeptics."

"No significant loss for me."

The waitress came around and brought them their drinks – Zexion clutched his and lowered his eyes to study the liquid dubiously.

Axel fixed his gaze on his colleague with a questioning look. "Are you going to tell me you don't like hot chocolate, now?"

"Nonsense. It just might be . . . hot," He said lamely, knowing all too well that 'hot' was the prefix of this drink.

"Scared of being burned?"

"Unlike you, Axel."

The redhead laughed, idly twirling his finger in the candle that was placed on the table's flame. Suddenly, it flared up a foot higher than its original one inch, acting as a torch.

"Don't do that – someone might see."

"Afraid of a little magic, are they? Hey Zexion, I've got a brilliant idea. Why don't you disguise yourself as Santa Claus—"

"The answer is _no_, Axel."

"Such a sorry sport," He said with regret, and then tilted his head back to take a swig of his hot chocolate. When he lowered the cheery red-and-forest green mug, Zexion spotted a furl of white foam on his upper-lip.

"You have cream on your mouth."

"I do?" He raised his slanted cinnamon brows inquiringly. "Maybe I can be Santa Claus, then. Ho-ho-ho."

"Honestly, how many drinks did you have before you came out here?"

"Um . . . two too many?" He grinned mischievously.

Zexion flicked his eyes, the whipped cream really beginning to get to him. He was a perfectionist in that way – seeing anything mar a surface, whether it be a scratch or a stain, bothered him until he did something about it.

But Zexion wasn't about to reach over and wipe it off. He waited for Axel to finally curl his tongue and lick it off slowly, causing the skin beneath the smaller man's eyes to twitch faintly. Then he winked.

· · · ¤.

"He sees you when you're sleeping, he _knows_ if you're awake . . ."

Back at the inn they were staying at, Zexion struggled to slip into a good book on the fluffed-up goose feather pillows, bending his knees while Axel sung in the bathroom of the suite. His obnoxiously nasal voice floated into the bedroom from the open door, ruining his concentration. Axel was brushing his teeth, so his voice was positively bubbling.

"I'm beginning to wonder whether Santa's a stalker pedophile or not. I mean, just take this song, for example. Creepy."

"Perhaps you should do a research project on him," Zexion droned idly, flipping a long-leafed page.

The sound of brushing swept past his ears.

"Naw. I failed all of my research projects when I was in school."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to give the teachers a hassle, so I already wrote an 'A' on them. Somehow, they always came back with an 'F.'"

"How surprising. Maybe it would have helped if you had actually _written_ something on the papers."

He heard Axel spit into the sink, and then the running of water.

"Eh, I don't think so. My teachers were pretty anal anyway. If they couldn't analyze my brilliance right off the bat, they weren't worth my attention." He gurgled, swished, and spit again. He then bounced out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, his feet padding on the hardwood floors. And sat right down on the edge of Zexion's bed.

"This is just like a sleepover, isn't it?"

"No. Get off my bed, Axel."

"Like that one time when Roxas mistook his bed for mine—"

"_Axel_. Land."

"I am landed. Right here."

"Then I'll just move over into the other bed."

"Okay. I think the box spring in that one is broken, anyway."

They made the transition. The first night, and Axel had already stolen his bed.

Before he went to sleep, Zexion took a small object off of the bedside table and swiped it across his chapped lips. The frigid weather of this world made his lips crack horribly, like a dry desert. Luckily he had that for comfort.

He leaned over to turn off the lamp. Axel's voice immediately arose from the darkness he had created.

"'Night, Zexion."

"Good_night_, Axel."

Two minutes later, Axel began to snore.

He turned over on the other side, wrapping his sheets more protectively around him. If only the bedroom had a fireplace . . .

· · · ¤.

The next day, they walked through the outskirts of the woody forest, chatting idly. It must have been 25 degrees colder than the day before, but Axel didn't seem to mind. He pointed out several things to Zexion, but he didn't really notice, being too concerned with the lack of warmth he was receiving out in the snowfield. Soon enough, Axel's chattering faded into humming. Of what? You guessed it: Christmas tunes.

They walked past two children scurrying to build a snowman – it was nearly complete, twice as tall as they were, but sadly misshapen. Axel snapped his fingers casually and it exploded. The children screamed.

"Clever, Axel," Zexion said dryly, clapping his hands together in slow-motion applause.

"They're just gonna think the Halloween monsters came to town." He smirked faintly, obviously proud of himself.

"You're no better than Larxene, really."

"I second that."

"And Demyx when you're intoxicated."

The redhead held up a halting finger. "I was not intoxicated, or even drunk. There is no trace of a hangover in me today."

"That's because Nobodies' bodies work wonders," The other male commented in nothing more than a mutter.

"So, what'd you do to amuse yourself when it snowed when you were a kid? Build dorky snowmen?" Axel joked.

"Radiant Garden didn't get much snow," He lied. He wasn't about to tell _Axel_ about his personal past life.

"Bummer. I've always loved the snow."

"How? Don't you like the heat better?"

"It isn't like the Organization's kitchen, Zexy. And I never said the _cold_. No; I just love the snow. And I can keep myself warm, so . . . it works out for me."

_Lucky_, Zexion inwardly thought, coveting his element.

They slowed to a stop on the foot-worn path. Axel bent over, gathering up something in his hands off to the side.

Zexion watched on sharply.

"Axel, what are you—"

Axel whirled fluidly, like the dancer among the winter flames, and Zexion felt a sting on the right of his chest, right where his heart used to be.

"_That's_ what we did to have fun. Snow ball fighting." Axel grinned. "Wanna play?"

". . Childish games are best left for children, Axel." He brushed the crushed snow off of his coat with mild discern. But he _did_ feel – or thought he felt – the urge to pummel Axel with snow balls, after being hit.

With a frown tugging slightly at his lips, he scooped up a lump of snow and packed it into a spherical shape. He looked up and saw that Axel was still grinning widely at him.

He pulled his shoulder back, bent his arm, and threw – the powder white ball spun through the air . . . and right past Axel's head.

"I guess you weren't in the Little League, either."

Axel bent over, quickly gathering up more ammunition. Zexion did the same, though more sluggishly. The cold certainly did not stimulate him.

That was the day of the infamous snowball fight: when Axel would come back to the Organization with a black eye, dripping tears from a rock that had been hidden in one of Zexion's weapons, and Zexion with a small red bump on his forehead for similar reasons.

Zexion wasn't looking – a snow ball hit him square in the forehead. He fell back into the blanket of snow, stunned, violet eyes wide open.

Number VIII trudged towards him, his boots making slushy crunching noises in the snow. He leaned over the young man, who was spread-eagled on his back, and his face twisted in what he mistook as concern.

"Are you okay?"

Zexion trembled in response. He had fallen into snow about two feet deep and was surrounded by the chilly substance.

"C-cold," He shivered.

"What?" To him, it sounded like he was saying, _You're going to suffer brain damage? I'll actually be smarter than you for once?_

"I said, it's fucking c-cold d-down here."

Axel held out a hand. When Zexion didn't take it, he slid them underneath the back of his shoulder blades and propped him up. Zexion fell towards Axel like a rag doll, his forehead pressing against the man's chest.

"Don't get comfortable, Zexy," Axel mumbled, hoisting him up in his arms. The silver-haired male's body spasmed from the cold, his teeth clattering soft clicks from inside his blue-tinted closed lips. But the warmth Axel gave off seemed to calm him, lulling him into a soothing daze.

He carried his colleague back to the inn, putting him in bed with lots of sheets, blankets, and reindeer-print comforter included. Zexion slid his eyes shut and fell asleep for some time.

When he awoke, he was aware of the crackling of a fire inside the room. An eye fluttered open, and he saw what looked like a campfire on the floor, complete with coals and sticks and a wrought-iron barrier.

"Axel . . . you're going to catch the whole place on fire," He croaked, placing his forearm on his head where it hurt. Sure enough, there was going to be a bump there.

"It's all under control. Had to steal the campfire pan . . . thing . . . though, from somewhere. I don't think those campers will mind. After all, when has the term 'happy camper' ever been true?"

He smelled something faintly sweet in the air. Axel had twisted the metal hangers into pokers, where roasted marshmallows were now being impaled upon.

"Unbelievable," Zexion said, letting his one eye slip closed again.

He heard the familiar snap of a lid reverberate throughout the room. His eye popped open once more.

"Why are you using my chapstick?"

Axel halted the process of applying the tube to his lips. ". . _Your_ chapstick?"

"Yes; mine."

He looked down at it.

"But . . . I've been using this throughout the entire trip."

He had been right from the beginning: it was never a vacation with Axel.


End file.
